


all in all

by Twice_before_Friday



Series: Altered & Extended - season 1 [17]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Episode: s01e17 Stranger Beside You, Fighting, Gen, Stabbing, Stand Alone, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23376631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday
Summary: A bit of an extended fight scene between Malcolm and Lucas when Lucas comes looking for his baby.Because I wanted to hurt Malcolm just a little...
Series: Altered & Extended - season 1 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557952
Comments: 26
Kudos: 122





	all in all

**Author's Note:**

> All episodes in this series are stand alone. You don't need to have read the others to read this one.
> 
> A giant thank you to KateSamantha for betaing and making this so much better than it was!

_I gave Christine everything. I loved her._

_No, Lucas. Someone in your past beat you down, made you feel powerless. And then, they made you believe that was love. It isn't. It's abuse._

\---

Malcolm thinks he might be getting through to him. Lucas is definitely listening and seems to be weighing Malcolm's words. But then the man's eyes dart over to the box cutter that had been carelessly left lying nearby and Malcolm realizes that this is not someone who will be swayed by words and empathy.

A substantial part of Bright's job is reading intent in body language, so he immediately picks up on the tiny shifts in Lucas' stance, the way the man's muscles tense as he prepares to lunge.

"No. No!" Malcolm yells as he makes an aborted move towards the knife but then forces himself to take a step back instead. He knows that Lucas is going to get to the blade first, and that being in the man's immediate vicinity when he does would be a very bad idea.

Lucas grabs the box cutter and spins back to him, swinging in a wide arc. There's a fervid fire in the man's eyes that screams that he's willing to do _anything_ to get to that baby, and it makes Malcolm's stomach churn that it has nothing to do with any semblance of paternal love and everything to do with ownership. It hits a little too close to home, but he aggressively pushes those thoughts aside and focuses on the task at hand. Malcolm doesn't doubt for a second that Lucas will kill both him and Alessa to get what's his, so he needs to think fast.

Alessa is terrified and teetering on the edge of full blown panic as she stands only feet away from the man who killed her husband and is hell bent on stealing her child. It's understandable but unfortunate that she flinches back when Lucas swings the knife, fear and surprise causing her to drop their decoy, sending the crystal orb rolling away and shattering the illusion that she was holding the baby and not just a bundle of cloth. For the space of a breath, all three of them freeze, eyes following the path of the shimmering ball, until everything falls into place for Lucas and he explodes.

"Where is she? Where's my daughter?!" Lucas rockets from anger to unbridled rage in an instant.

At the shout, Nina begins crying from the other room, scared and helpless, and Malcolm decides in that moment that he will do absolutely everything in his power to make sure that Lucas doesn't get anywhere near Alessa or her baby. So when the man starts to stalk over to Alessa, Malcolm doesn't even think twice. He launches himself at Lucas, aiming center mass as he tries to knock the man off balance. Malcolm's never been athletically inclined but he executes a respectable tackle that sends both of them sprawling to the ground.

With years of martial arts training and the element of surprise on his side, it's easy for Malcolm to get the upper hand at first. He straddles Lucas's chest and pulls his elbow back, bringing his fist down hard on the man's face and causing him to drop the box cutter as he uses both hands to defend himself. Unfortunately, Lucas is larger and is quickly able to use the weight difference to his advantage, flipping them so that Malcolm is flat on his back with Lucas looming over him, his knee digging painfully into Malcolm's stomach to keep him pinned to the ground.

The look in Lucas's eyes as he wraps his hands around Bright's throat is something close to euphoria and Malcolm has no doubt that he's done this to his wife a number of times over the years. He brings his hands up to Lucas's arms, trying to shove the man's hands away from his throat, but he can't get any leverage from where he's laying. Malcolm is vaguely aware of the crushing pain around his neck where the webbing between Lucas's thumbs and forefingers is compressing his throat, closing off his trachea and bruising his larynx, but all that matters is that he can't. fucking. breathe.

He starts kicking out his legs, trying to unseat the man on top of him, but he can't gather enough momentum to knock Lucas off. His chest is starting to burn and he feels the panic building inside, spurned on by visions of his father pressing a chloroform-soaked rag over his face and he has a sudden recollection of feeling like he was suffocating back then, too. He freezes for a beat as the memories take over but then starts to fight even harder, scratching at the man's wrists where his jacket has pulled up before bringing his hand to the man's chin and pushing to the side, hoping to lessen the force he's using to strangle Malcolm.

It doesn't work.

Everything is starting to go grey around the edges and Malcolm can tell he's going to lose consciousness soon. There's a gleam in Lucas's eye and a tilt to his lips that's bordering on a snarl, a testament to the fact that the man is enjoying this – enjoying watching the fear in Malcolm's eyes, enjoying the feel of the struggling form beneath him slowly becoming weaker and weaker, enjoying the power of life and death that he holds over his victim.

Malcolm's eyes are fluttering closed when he remembers the box cutter. He drops his hand from where he's futilely trying to push Lucas's elbow at the joint and pats the floor around him, searching for the knife. His fingers brush up against it and send it skidding, the noise as it scrapes across the concrete floor enough of a distraction that Lucas looks over to see what it is.

Bright can't keep his eyes open any longer as his hand moves to wrap around the blade, but Lucas is faster, his arm darting out to wrap around the handle and yank it from Malcolm's grasp, slicing his palm open as it leaves his hand. The pain makes his eyes shoot open and his body jerk away in response, and with Lucas's one handed grip on his throat, it's enough that he can drag in a rasping breath before Lucas is able to wrap his hand a little tighter.

He can feel the pressure building in his chest, the small gasp of breath somehow intensifying the burning as he fights against the cough that's trapped inside his lungs. He's so focused on the pain in his chest that he doesn't notice when Lucas raises the box cutter and slams it down hard next to Malcolm's collarbone, the tip of the blade snapping off and burying itself inside on impact. When Bright becomes aware of what happened, it's the force of the blow that he registers first, a feeling akin to getting punched. The sharp pain of the cut hits hard only seconds later and his mouth opens in a silent scream, Lucas's hand still crushing his windpipe and preventing any sound from escaping.

"She's mine! You can't take her from me!" Lucas shouts as he loosens the tension on the box cutter with his thumb and slides up the next section of blade. Malcolm's vision is going spotty and his head is filling with unwelcome flashbacks of knives and camping trips and his father's voice but still he catches Lucas's wrist as he brings the knife down to Malcolm's throat, turning what would have been a severed carotid artery into a mild gash. He can feel the blood flowing down his neck but he's barely able to keep a hold on Lucas's arm and can't spare a hand to stop the bleeding.

It's only as his grip is faltering, his eyes slipping shut for what he's sure will be the final time, that Alessa comes up behind Lucas and smashes the back of his head with the glass ball. As Lucas's body falls to the floor beside him, his rigid grip around Malcolm's throat finally broken, Malcolm tries to suck in a much needed breath and his heart rate skyrockets when he finds that he can't. His hands fly to his throat, grasping wildly to find whatever it is that's keeping him from inhaling the precious oxygen in the room, but finds nothing. Somehow, through the blinding haze of panic that's threatening to consume him, he realizes that the swelling in his throat is cutting off his air supply and there's nothing he can do but hope that the swelling subsides enough for the air to pass through. Soon.

He's never felt more powerless than he does as he lays there, clawing at his throat as his heart jackhammers in his chest until _finally_ his airway opens just enough to allow for one trembling breath. Malcolm sucks in a painful wheeze, and he's left hacking and choking as the air whistles in through his swollen throat and catches in his chest. It feels like he's breathing through a straw and he can barely manage to still the trembling in his hands long enough to apply pressure to the wound on his neck. As his vision slowly starts to clear with the increased oxygen, he sees Alessa drop down to her knees on Lucas's back and start bashing the man's skull with the glass orb, bringing it down over and over.

"Alessa. Stop," he rasps, the words ripping painfully through his throat. He forces himself onto his side but he's too weak to drag himself any closer, his muscles have been deprived of oxygen for too long, leaving him shaking and completely spent.

Fortunately, Gil and JT burst into the room just in time, JT rushing to catch Alessa's arm as she winds up for another crushing blow to the back of Lucas's head. He hears the detective coaxing her to let go of the orb, watching intently as she finally lets go and rushes off to get Nina from where they'd hidden her away, wrapped up snug atop a box full of throw blankets.

It's only when he sees Alyssa come back with Nina safe in her arms that he relaxes enough to realize that Gil has dropped down to his side and is pressing his hand over Bright's where it's held to the cut on his neck.

Gil's on the phone, shouting for an ambulance and Malcolm finally clues in that Gil is panicking about the amount of blood around Malcolm's neck, unaware that much of it is coming from the deep gash on the palm of his hand.

"Gil," his voice is still scraping and raw but he's breathing a little easier already. He looks up and sees the fear written in the lines on the man's face. "I'm fine." Gil's eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, but Malcolm continues before the man can say a word. "It's not as bad as it looks."

He slips his hand from beneath Gil's grip, Gil's hand tightening against his neck in concern until Malcolm opens his hand and displays his palm for Gil's inspection, the wound gaping open and steadily oozing blood down his wrist to be soaked up by the cuff of his shirt.

It's maybe not the best idea.

Malcolm's not squeamish when it comes to blood, not even a little. But he's lost quite a bit and is feeling a touch light headed to start with, what with almost being strangled to death, so the sight of his blood pumping out of the jagged gash in his hand in time with his heartbeat leaves him feeling more than a little queasy. He closes his eyes against the nausea and takes a slow breath in through his nose and then blows just as slowly out of his mouth.

"Bright? You with me?" Gil still sounds overly-worried so Malcolm forces his eyes open and flashes a watery smile up at the man, flinching as Gil starts wrapping a cloth around his hand.

"I'm fine, Gil. Honestly." Even he can admit it's a hard sell when his voice sounds like broken glass and gravel. "A few stitches and I'll be good as new." It's maybe not completely true, but close enough. He knows he's in for a few days of a liquid diet, already having trouble swallowing just his saliva, but that's not a big change from normal, anyways.

Gil brushes off Malcolm's assurances and moves to press a cloth on the wound near his collarbone, still keeping one warm hand pressed gently on his throat, but Malcolm grabs his wrist to prevent him from applying pressure. Gil arches an eyebrow in question.

"The blade snapped off inside. I think pressing on it would be a bad idea." Malcolm was hoping Gil wouldn't even notice that wound. He should have known better.

"Jesus, kid," Gil sighs, "can you maybe try getting through one case without getting hurt?" Gil runs a hand through Malcolm's hair, unintentionally smearing blood in the kid's locks, but neither of them mind. Gil perfected the 'worried dad' look years ago and it falls naturally on his face as he looks down at Malcolm, hurt but safe, laying on the floor beneath him.

Embarrassment and denial war on Malcolm's face and he pouts as he says, "I don't get hurt on every case."

The petulant tone causes the corners of Gil's lips to twitch up, convincing him that Malcolm is truly alright more than the profiler's assurances ever could. Malcolm rolls his eyes when he sees Gil relax, knowing exactly what caused the man to let go of some of the worry that's been weighing him down since he rushed into the room.

Gil remains by Malcolm's side until the paramedics arrive, one of the medics rushing to Lucas's side while the other attends to Malcolm. He knows he can't get out of a trip to the hospital this time and resigns himself to an evening of waiting in the emergency room. It takes some convincing, but he does eventually persuade Gil to finish the case rather than accompanying him to the hospital and wasting all of his night there as well. He knows how much the man worries and wants to spare him the trip if possible.

Much to his delight, it's one of the shorter visits to the hospital that Malcolm has ever had. A combination of stitches and butterfly strips and a caution to be extra mindful of any changes in his breathing or worsening pain in his throat, and then he's heading over to get his discharge papers and a prescription for antibiotics.

He knows he should head home, follow the doctor's advice and take it easy for a couple of days. Instead, as he slides into the back of a waiting cab, he gives the address for the precinct, anxious to see how everything played out. He settles back against the seat and thinks that, all in all, the night turned out better than he was expecting.


End file.
